


Courtesy

by XzadionOmega



Series: Capturing Moods [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: AU, Flash Fic, Gen, Tsviets Live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:10:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XzadionOmega/pseuds/XzadionOmega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I needed something to do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courtesy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [distantglory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantglory/gifts).



            His fingers drumming on the tabletop had been the only sound the man in the corner had made for the last hour. The ceiling fans were waxed to perfection, and swung silently through the air. Silent sunlight filtered through the spotless, shining window. Each blind had been carefully dusted. Every cord had been unknotted, every mote of dust in Tifa’s bar had been expulsed. That had been an hour ago and the clean was unnerving. The drumming of fingertips was unnerving. Nero the Sable, a man who had killed millions, sitting at the back table with an untouched water and _eternally drumming fingers_ was unnerving. _Maybe he cleans before he kills_ , Tifa thought. She shined glasses that he had already polished to a gleaming perfection. _But wouldn’t that sort of be counter-productive?_ Abandoning the glass on the bar, Tifa walked over to where Nero sat.

            “Hey.”

            “Yes?”

            “Uh… Just… I’m just wondering if you’re okay over here.”

            “I’m fine.” After a beat, he added: “Thank you.”

            _He’s at least learning manners. That’s… Good, I guess._ “Mind if I take a seat?”

            “It _is_ your establishment.”

            “Fair enough.” She slid into the chair across from his and studied him, almost as intently as he studied the people passing by.

            His wings had been removed weeks ago, when Shelke had pointed out that he was lethal enough without them (and there had been quite the debate on that point.) The mask had taken him longer to part with, but for a more childish reason: Yuffie had said he would get tan-lines and, upon discovering what tan-lines were, the mask was removed almost immediately. His hair had been combed, an adventure in patience and comb-resilience that had taken a full day. The end result was less than what Tifa had imagined; a man who covered his mouth a lot and had trouble knowing when to say thank-you.

            “What are you looking at?”

            Nero had turned his attention from the passers-by to Tifa. The hand that he had used to cover his mouth was resting on the table. His lips (very normal lips, something that Tifa had not expected) were twisted into a scowl.

            _I was looking at how far you’ve come_ , was the right answer. Instead, she turned it around. “I could ask you the same thing. You’ve been staring out that window for the past hour.”

            “I’m admiring my work,” he drawled. “You can actually see the sunlight in the shop now. It’s quite impressive.”

            “I wanted to thank you for that, by the way. We’ve been so busy…”

            “It’s fine.” Another pause, Nero’s eyes flickered out the window again after a person with white-blond hair. “I just needed something to do.”


End file.
